


John wake up ‘please’

by SherlocksViolin



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Aspergers, Autism, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Doctor Watson, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Rosie Watson - Freeform, Sherlock - Freeform, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, rosamund mary watson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:13:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksViolin/pseuds/SherlocksViolin
Summary: They'd solved the case of the six thatchers but when John and Mary have an argument that remains to be discovered, and Mary then puts John and Rosie at risk in her anger induced state, she leaves Sherlock to pick up the pieces as John remains in a coma with a child to look after.(ITS NOT ALL ANGST, TheRE WIlL bE FLuFfThis is now complete!!





	1. Chapter 1

He'd been asleep now for two weeks. The detective hadn't left his side. He hadn't opened his eyes since he'd squeezed them shut, curling his body round his daughter as the car veered into another. His daughter was fine, with only a scratch to her brow. But the doctor wouldn't wake.

The detective hadn't moved, he'd stayed in the plastic chair next to the bed, clasping at the tail of the hospital bed, whispering and pleading with the patient to just open his eyes one more time. 

"John, wake up. Please." The detectives voice broke into a sob and he had to clench his eyes shut a she willed for John's to open. Biting down on his bottom lip and drawing blood. 

There was a bandage across the soldier's forehead, covering the stitched to the gaping cut that had knocked him out. Put him in a comatose dream. 

Sherlock couldn't help the tears at the memory of how he found him. 

He'd heard the massive crash just down the road from Baker Street and in his curiosity had fled from the flat, leaving his coat and scarf behind. He'd felt calm and collected until he heard the high pitched wail of a baby girl. He'd been excited until he saw the registration number of the upturned Audi. 

The calm and collected appearance became one of dread and fear and the excitement became adrenaline, cold and angry adrenaline that burned through his blood stream and cauterized his raw throat as he screamed out John's name.

His breath was gone when he saw John's wife. Mary was the image of death, her once rosy skin now pale and bruised, blood trickling from her mouth, nose and forehead, her hair becoming matted and sticky with the crimson horror that portrayed the once lively woman.

He reached out to her neck for a pulse and when he felt none he let loose a small sob of agony before he turned to see John, his back towards the impact and the child's crying muffled by his chest. 

"Rosie?" Sherlock questioned in fear, he tried to pull John's body away from her and although he felt a pulse there was no response to his request. "John?" Sherlock whispered. No reply.

"John!" He demanded more desperately. "John!" He shouted. John stayed lifeless. "Wake up John!" 

He lost track of time after that. He didn't remember managing to drag John's battered body out of the upturned at, how he somehow managed to unbuckle the seat belts and free his friend. He didn't remember how he somehow managed to get Rosie out, only a small cut on her head.

He didn't remember getting Mary's corpse out of the drivers seat. He didn't remember what he did. But he remembered the blood. So much blood. 

He didn't remember screaming for John to wake, for John to be okay, the apologies that he couldn't save Mary, the sobs of agony. He didn't notice the deep gashes inflicted to his own body from the broken glass when he had reached through the window to reach out to John, one long gash on his hand and a deep one from wrist to elbow. 

He didn't notice he was bleeding out, adrenaline keeping him alive. 

When the ambulance and police had arrived, what greeted them was a car, still full of passengers, two young boys but still alive just shocked and a few scratches, an upturned silver Audi with no passengers but instead a smashed windscreen from where someone's head had collided with it, blood spattered all over. 

The thing that shocked them most was the bleeding detective, sobbing and cradling his goddaughter and only friend in his arms, unwilling to ever let go. And what made lestrade's heart clench was the fear and utter agony that was practically pouring from the young detective. 

Lestrade phoned Mycroft before going over to the detective and delicately removing his arms from John's body as someone else carefully took Rosie out of his hands. Lestrade escorted him to the back of an ambulance and maybe Sherlock would have smiled fondly at the feeling of de ja vu. But this time when the orange blanket was draped over him and his arm was sewn and bandaged. He truly was in shock and the blanket helped. 

He didn't notice the world around him, he only saw John's body carefully deposited on a stretcher and soon Rosie being carried by a medic and then the ambulance was gone. 

He was shaking and tears fell silently.

When they cry silently it's because they can't stop.

He felt an arm over his shoulders and was escorted to the back of a black car. He couldn't remember what. His brother was sat next to him and the lestrade on his other side. 

"John?" Sherlock questioned and neither had ever heard him sound so broken. 

"He'll be okay" lestrade assured. "Mycroft?" He looked up at the older Holmes who was looking uselessly at his younger brother.

Mycroft slowly came out of his daze and commanded the driver to get them to the hospital. The pedal was pressed, the clutch released as the car was moved into first and they were off. 

He didn't remember being guided to sit in a waiting room as shrapnel was removed from John in surgery. He didn't remember what had happened to Mary, how her body had been taken away in s private ambulance after being put into a black body bag. He missed everything but John. 

"Mr Holmes?" A doctor asked, Mycroft looked up and gently nudged Sherlock but received no answer. 

"Sherlock?" Mycroft whispered in his brothers ear until Sherlock mournfully lifted his head to look at the doctor but unable to make eye contact. 

"Mr Holmes, mr Watson is in a coma as if present but rest assured he will wake up, it is just so the body can recover. He will wake up when he is ready. Also Rosamund Watson is well and in the child ward room 281. You can visit her under supervision." 

Sherlock nodded minutely and the doctor walked off leaving himself, Lestrade and Mycroft alone in the waiting area.

"See, he'll wake up, he'll be okay" Lestrade assured giving Sherlocks arm a comforting squeeze. 

It was over two hours later they were allowed to visit John but only two visitors at a time. Lestrade had insisted Mycroft but the older Holmes talked him into going with Sherlock. 

"You were better family to him than I could ever be, he needs you" Mycroft insisted softly before he took residence on the blue plastic bench outside the room. So lestrade nodded to the elder Holmes with a tight lipped smile and followed Sherlock in. 

Sherlock walked in a daze, his eyes never focused until they fell on John. A silent, heart wrenching sob before he flew over to John's bedside and dropped to his knees clutching at the bedpost. Begging for him to wake. Lestrade placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he took a seat in one of the blue and white chairs. 

It smelt of disinfectant, a slight metallic tinge of blood from Sherlock and John combined, and the strange smell that was like nail varnish remover which was produced by the iodine used on both John's and the detectives wounds. 

"John I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" Sherlock was muttering, more to himself than anyone else, he was shaking again but Lestrade couldn't comfort him because his pain was psychological and he couldn't protect him from his own mind. 

That memory was constantly replaying in Sherlocks mind. And said memory wouldn't leave. John stayed unresponsive.


	2. Wake up

"Sherlock?" Mycroft spoke but received no reply. Sherlock was still at John's bedside, collapsed into a chair. Week three now and John showed only minor signs of waking up. "Sherlock, you need to eat" Mycroft insisted.

"I can't leave him Myc, after all this and what he's done for me, I can't--I can't--" 

"Look Sherlock, calm down, he will wake soon, there is solid evidence for this, I also managed to track down the culprits of the Moriarty video, just some computer 'geeks' hacking into the systems. So Moriarty is no longer a threat. Look, I'll get food up here and you are to eat it, okay?" Mycroft said in his usual monotone and maybe if Sherlock had been more focused on the world he would have noticed the worry in his brothers voice. 

"I'm-im afraid Myc" Sherlock whispered and for once Mycroft was reminded of the Sherlock he used to know, vulnerable and innocent, the boy who wanted to be a pirate. His little brother. 

"Sherlock, it's gonna be okay, I have made sure of it, we have the best doctors on him and constant surveillance--" 

"Not everything is controlled with power, whether he lives or dies isn't dependent on power!" 

"Sherlock I'm sorry, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you were firing up, for going to university when you probably needed me most, I am sorry lock" he made the endearment clear, Sherlocks childhood nickname, cap'n Lock and first mate Myc. 

Sherlock looked up in shock at the name before sending a small weak smile at Mycroft and then turning his attention back to John. 

"Thankyou Mycroft" Sherlock whispered before he left again, watching out of the corner of his eye as Sherlocks hand slid into John's cold one and then he wrapped his other around them. 

Mycroft left to get a nurse to bring up some food for Sherlock and make sure he ate it, he'd been surprisingly well behaved and hadn't had any lash outs. He'd listened to the nurses but the only advice he'd pushed aside was anything involving leaving John's bedside.

Sherlock continued to hold John's hand in his own, it was something he'd grown accustomed to- John's hand laced with his own- even though the fingers that were laced with his were cold and unresponsive they were a sign John was still there with him, when he work from a fitful sleep after reliving it all and John was still there. He felt that he could keep some control over John's health.

Sherlock spoke to him, talked to him about Rosie, about Mary, apologized over and over. He told him of Mary's death, the funeral that was set to happen in two weeks time. He hoped that all the information was passing through. Little did he know that every piece of information was like a chopped up jigsaw puzzle to John's brain and that it was being fitted wrongly and twisting his mind with the truth. 

It was the next day when Sherlock was woken from his sleep by a mumble. A mumble from the man who had been in a coma for three weeks now. John was mumbling. 

"John?" Sherlock asked in shock and awe.

"Ma-Mary?" John asked confused.

"No, it's me, Sherlock" the detective answered uncertainly before reaching over to press the call button. The doctors needed to check him. 

"Sherlocks dead" John mumbled.

Sherlock stopped breathing. No. He wasn't dead was he? At least he didn't think he was. He'd been with John since he got back from Serbia. He'd been in the backseat with John's pregnant wife as she was giving birth. Why did John think he was dead?

Nurses came in, pushed Sherlocks hand gently away as he stumbled backwards into the wall and had to struggle to hold himself up straight.

They began to ask John questions. Checking his vitals and he appeared perfectly healthy but he was certain that Sherlock Holmes was dead.

The nurse came back over to Sherlock and informed him of John's condition. 

"He's perfectly healthy but is currently experiencing Transient Global Amnesia, its rare but he still seems to believe we're in the previous year, it will ware off over the next couple of days, there is no permanent damage, but he may not remember recent events." The doctor explained, Sherlock nodded lamely and the doctor left. 

Sherlock came back over to John and John locked eyes with him, shock written over his face. 

Sherlock breathed deeply. In. Out. In. Out. 

"Sherlock?" 

"John, I can--" Sherlock began but John cut him off.

"No, you were dead, I watched you jump, you were dead!" John exclaimed as he sat up straighter in the hospital bed, his arms shaking from disuse.

"John, you have a daughter, what about--" 

"I don't have a daughter, I've never had one!" John hissed, "why are you lying to me, Sherlocks dead, I don't have a daughter!" 

Sherlock paled, he ran out the room, nausea hitting him hard as all the shock and managed to get to the toilets and sat curled up around the bowl, retching, his stomach empty from not eating. It ached and it made him curl in on himself. He collapsed against the wall, shaking and sobbing and tears streaking down his unwashed face. Sticking in three weeks worth of stubble. 

He sat there, rocking back and forth for what could have been minutes, hours days. He lost count. It didn't matter anyway. John didn't remember. John thought he was dead. This John wasn't his John.


	3. Remember me

He stayed huddled in the toilet until he heard the door creak but he didn't move. He finally looked up when Greg put a hand on his shoulder and then under his arm, lifting him unsteadily to his feet. 

"Cmon, let's leave John for a bit, I heard about what happened so let's go see Rosie for now yeah?" Lestrade said gently, guiding Sherlock out of the cubicle and towards the sink. 

He helped wash Sherlocks face and hands and attempted to make him look presentable with what he had and then they began an unsteady way to the children's ward. When they reached room 281, Greg opened the door and showed the nurse his police badge to assure that Sherlock would need no supervision but his own.

Sherlock walked carefully over to Rosie's crib, carefully settled amongst five other babies in the room, he reached his hand down and gently trailed his index finger along her pudgy cheek. 

She was only six months old, and her father didn't even remember her existence, he was still in 2016, it was a year too early, why did the bad things always happen to them?

Sherlock reached in carefully-his suit crinkled and torn-and carefully picked up Rosie, his goddaughter and held her tightly to his chest. 

"Hey little bumblebee, it's me Sherlock" the detective spoke in the gentlest whisper, nuzzling his nose to her own and breathing in her sweet smell. 

"Er-ock" Rosie said carefully, and Sherlock couldn't believe his ears, he looked over to Greg who was smiling widely, his face open and silent in awe. 

"She said my name Greg" Sherlock whispered in awe, Rosie lifted her hand to Sherlocks hair and tugged it gently, getting the attention back on her and making Sherlocks now blue eyes look back at her in wander. 

"She's a Watson alright" Greg laughed, slightly in shock that Sherlock managed to get his name right for the first time in years. 

"Da?" Rosie questioned, it had been just before the accident that she heard learnt to say 'da' to John and John had been overflowing with pride for the little girl. 

"Daddy's not here right now, bumble, you'll see him soon" Sherlock promised as he carefully rocked her in his arms, his own curls bouncing slightly.

Rosie looked at Sherlock in amazement, the famous Watson look, a slight cock of the eyebrow, pouty lips, it was so much like John that he felt his heart clench and had to hand Rosie over to Lestrade so he could press his fist to his mouth to muffle the strangled cry of agony that was threatening to escape. 

Tears were building up in his already reddened eyes. He looked rougher than Lestrade had ever seen him. 

Little did they know that when John fell asleep that night after seeing Sherlock that he dreamed of Sherlock on drugs, weeks away from his death. John had beaten him physically the same way Sherlock had done to him mentally when he jumped. Sherlocks hands shook from exhaustion, but in his dream it was a tremor brought on by drugs. 

He woke the next day with a gasp, he hunted out for Sherlock, maybe he was alive but he saw that his friend wasn't there like expected, Sherlock was dead. 

John didn't know that Sherlock was in fact with Mycroft currently, Lestrade also there, as they got him to eat and drink. Mycroft also had one of his little 'helpers' shave off Sherlocks three week old stubble and made him shower until he was presentable in a clean suit and now armored with his favorite coat and scarf. 

Sherlock rushed back to the hospital as soon as he could, checking on John yet again to find him asleep. He sat down at John's side and laced his fingers with John's own, laying his other hand over them. 

Sherlock gasped audibly when the hand he held squeezed his own gently, a comforting gesture, his gaze flitted from John's face to his hands and back again. His breath caught when John's eyes blearily opened, their ocean, the calm before the storm. Sherlock didn't realize how much he had missed John's eyes. 

"John?" 

"Sherlock?" John asked uncertainly, looking down at their adjoined hands in confusion before meeting Sherlocks eyes again.

"I'm here John" Sherlock assured, "do you want to see Rosie?" 

"Yes, is she okay? What happened to Mary?" John asked suddenly.

"John, she-she crashed the car with you two in the back, she crashed into a car with two boys heading home from college, they were brothers. Um, John, she-- she-" Sherlock broke off, unable to speak. 

"No, Sherlock she can't--Mary? Dead?" John asked in shock and Sherlock wished he could remove that look of utter grief and sadness that washed over John's features. 

"I-I checked, she wasn't breathing, but you and Rosie were there and so I got you out of the car and I-I--" Sherlock could barely breathe, he could feel his breathing getting more harsh and speeding up. John pressed the call button but not for himself this time, but for Sherlock.

"Sherlock calm down, listen to me. Don't cry, your hyperventilating, calm down, breathe for me." John insisted calmly, resting his other hand on Sherlocks cheek and wiping away the tears. "Sherlock?" 

A doctor came in and saw the situation and understood immediately, rushing off to fetch a paper bag for Sherlock to breathe into and calm his erratic heart rate. 

Sherlock eventually calmed down, the bag crinkling and crunching as he breathed, John rubbing Sherlocks forearm as he let his own tears fall silently, he'd lost his wife, but somehow, after all the lies and the pain she had brought, it wasn't as painful as he always imagined it being. 

"I'm-I'm so sorry John" Sherlock whispered and he sounded broken, like broken glass. 

"Losing Mary hurts, but Sherlock, it will never compare to when I lost you"


	4. Mary’s downfall

John felt bad, because he should have been grieving for his wife, he should have been upset. Distraught. Crying. Sobbing. But yet somehow he wasn't. And it is true that it didn't hurt as much as Sherlock but it still hurt a damn lot. Maybe it was shock and therefore pain hadn't registered. Maybe it was because he wasn't alone this time.

Sherlock didn't move away from him, he stayed at the bedside at all times, he had brought Rosie to John on several occasions and had eventually managed to get Mycroft to persuade the doctors to bring the crib next to John's bed so they were in reach of each other. 

John had to do physiotherapy two ice a day to strengthen himself after spending three weeks in a coma but Sherlock tried to help the best he could. 

It was honestly true in some ways that doctors made the worst patients, but in others John listened to what they said and took their advice but he would occasionally complain about the fact he could be doing this at home. And by home he meant Baker Street. 

Rosie had surprised him with being able to pronounce Sherlocks name, even though 'er-lock' wasn't perfect, it made Sherlocks eyes well up to the point where his excuse had been that it was so hot his eyes were sweating which just made John chuckle quietly. 

There were downtimes however, when John remembered all that Mary had been to him, all that he had lost. Rosie would grow up without a mother. She'd have her father and her godparents. But that was all. But then again, wasn't that enough? 

She had all the father figures that were Sherlock, John and Lestrade and then she had a female role model being Molly. But she didn't have a mother and now  she had a single parent, a grieving man, a broken soldier. 

John felt like he had lost a piece of her jigsaw that was his heart, he felt like he could never have the two people he cared about most in the world. 

When Sherlock left, Mary took away some of the pain and then when Sherlock returned it had been just over a year and a half and Mary had left him forever. 

John however did explain what he could with Sherlock about the crash so it could be reported and dealt with who was to blame. And as it turned out there had been an argument. 

And it had all been because of trust and lies, there was no real starting point because the flaws in their relationship had been caused by rash decisions and giant leaps. Mary's disappearance and then the hatred to Sherlock finding her, the fact that she had left her newborn child with John with no clue to as whether she would return. 

She hadn't left on a good note, she hadn't left on a even useful note. She had just packed up and left, changed her identity and in many senses of the word, abandoned them. 

So when John had resorted to Sherlock for help and companionship to take care of his daughter it was hardly a surprise but Mary took it wrongly.

"Just replace me with old gubbins when I'm gone huh?" She had said sarcastically. John had naturally tried to defend that, Sherlock wasn't a replacement, if anything Mary was, and maybe it was harsh although in some ways she had been far worse to him. But Sherlock had come first, and Sherlock had given his life willingly to the playful hands of death to make sure John's had stayed untouched. 

Sherlock had played his life like a card, he'd flashed his scarlet to the enemy all to save John's winning set, to save John from losing the game. To save John Watson. But he'd lost so much in doing so. Last time, he lost two years. 

But Mary had put John in danger, but she hadn't offered her own life as an equal, so many teases to John and to Sherlock, the 'I'm better than both of you put together' smile. 

She had shot Sherlock, he took that bullet and still helped her. 

Sherlock 1:Mary 0 

When danger had come for Sherlock and all his friends, he'd sacrificed himself, he didn't mind if it went wrong.

When danger and for Mary, she had fled, she had abandoned them, she hadn't saved them. He made them feel unwanted and left John with a child that needed feeding and caring for, but Sherlock had helped out. 

Sherlock 2:Mary 0  

And this argument has lead to Mary threatening to crash the car, no one thought she actually would. Joh had sat in the back, he wanted to be with Rosie whilst Mary drove. But he never would have guessed she would tease and play with their life's like they were replaceable. 

But Sherlock had been there, and maybe after all that, after almost killing Sherlock and then nearly killing John and his daughter, maybe Mary wasn't someone he would miss, she had nearly taken everything he had ever loved and cared about. She'd attempted to take things that didn't belong to her, and in the end, that was Mary's downfall. 

She had taken her own life, and as Sherlock had said in a comatose dream. "Your life is not your own, keep your hands off it" 

But Mary played with fire, and she was burnt in the end as would be expected, she had danced with death thinking he'd never touch her, she had offered gold to the poor thinking it would stay hers, she was a risk taker, a liar and an assassin. 

It was true that although labels such as mother and wife clung to her like baggage tags on a suitcase, it wasn't truly what she contained, she was wired differently and the loss of what she had wouldn't be enough to stop her. 

But when John woke himself from his agony and constant counting, he was greeted by soft mahogany curls resting next to him on the bed, his left hand wrapped warmly in larger ones, his daughter in arms reach. He couldn't help but smile, because what he had lost, was less than what he had gained. 

The scoreboards that he had used to test them against each other were but a mere fragment of what they had taken and contributed to his life, and finally after another week in hospital, after knowing his wife was dead, he wasn't exactly grieving but instead moving on.


	5. 221b is our home

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly to the detective who had fallen asleep. No reply, he shook his shoulder gently in an attempt to rouse the detective and received a small groan. 

"Five more minutes" Sherlock mumbled, turning his head away and burying deeper into his arms. John chuckled and tugged Sherlocks hair slightly and eventually the detective lifted his head and looked blearily up at John, his round owlish eyes blinking into focus. 

"Sherlock I'm discharged today" John told him, it had been five weeks in total and eventually all the dust had settled, the grass had grown over the upturned earth. 

"Wait, does that mean you'll be going home?" Sherlock asked. 

"To Baker Street if you'll take me back" John said with a smile.

Sherlock sprang up from his chair. "Of course I want you back, I'm lost without my blogger!" Sherlock exclaimed as he went over to make a fuss of Rosie.

"Er'lock!" Rosie squealed teaching her hands up to her godfather. 

"Hello dear bumble, do you want to see daddy?" Sherlock spoke fondly as he picked her up and adjusted the blanket around her and turning to John to wave at him with Rosie in his arms, "hey look, it's daddy!" He said in a high pitched soft voice. 

He gently laid Rosie against John's chest and John held he'd carefully, placing a gentle kiss to her fluffy blonde hair. He then turned his smile from Rosie to Sherlock who smiled warmly back. 

How can a man so cold, be so warm to those he truly cares about? How can a self proclaimed sociopath care? John thought to himself as Sherlock began collecting all of John's things including several bunches of flowers that had been placed during his coma, a small yellow rose from Sherlock standing alone next to a small note. 

The note just read three simple words. 

Wake up,  
Please.

John was discharged later that evening and Sherlock carried Rosie as John carefully made his way up the stairs to Baker Street, Mrs Hudson soon in the room with them as Sherlock was settling Rosie carefully on his nightgown on the floor between their two chairs. 

Mrs Hudson decided to begin fixing them a meal and setting tea out for John and Sherlock whilst she made a bottle of formula milk for Rosie. Whilst John was in safe hands and had help with Rosie Sherlock ran out of the house with little warning and left the flat with his wallet and phone in his pockets. 

He returned just under an hour later with several large cardboard boxes that were clearly fairly heavy and a few other plastic carrier bags that he then dumped heavily at the doorway before dropping his coat and then dragging the largest box of all of them and pulling it the center of the room where he then broke open the tape with surprising ease and began pulling out large pieces of wood wrapped in plastic packaging. 

"What's that?" John asked in amusement from his chair where he had been reading a book to Rosie. 

"Surprise John!" Sherlock exclaimed as he began rifling through the box and pulled out an instruction manual. He scanned it and then threw it over his head with random muttering. John picked it up to see the whole thing was written in another language unknown to him. 

Sherlock however seemed to know what he was doing and within the next hour, ignoring the plate of food Mrs Hudson set out and gulping at his tea there was a very posh looking expensive crib standing in the center of the room. 

"Wow" John breathed as Sherlock stood up from his crouch on the floor and experimentally shook it to see if it was strong. 

It stood firmly in place and Sherlock made a hum of appreciation before turning round with an expectant look on his face towards John. 

"If we keep it in here then we can both get to her easily, unless you want her in your room, which is simple enough-" 

"Sherlock it's fine, it's brilliant in fact, Thankyou" John assured resting a hand on his friends shoulder. "Honestly Thankyou"

Sherlock nodded and then went over to one of the bags pulling out some toys of varying degrees, there were your typical baby teddies and then there was stuff related to John such as a plastic stethoscope, and a pretend first aid kit there was also stuff related to science such as a periodic table blanket and a kaleidoscope microscope. 

"Okay one more little thing from me" Sherlock said quietly as he went to his coat and took out a small crinkled pink wrapped gift with a large flower bow. He handed it to John who was yet again holding Rosie and John carefully opened it with her. 

Inside was a slightly tattered plush bumble bee, and yet did once unlike most was indeed anatomically correct- typical Sherlock- there was a fraying tag sewn onto it with an embroidered name; William. 

"Sherlock is this--" John began. 

"Yes, it is mine from when I was younger, I always loved bees, they are truly fascinating" Sherlock said in a calm but dreamy voice.

"Sherlock you should keep it for you, it has sentimental value" John insisted as Rosie plucked the bee from his hands and held it tightly in her own. 

"I want my goddaughter to have it" Sherlock insisted with a little smile before turning back to the other boxes and missing the look on John's face.

A look that would have confused Sherlock, one of affection, fondness and full of loving. But then perhaps the same feelings went through Sherlock as he began to put together the solar system mobile made of metal and tempered glass pieces.


	6. Elastic bands can snap

Maybe the loss of Mary hadn't truly sunk in for ether of them, John managed to appear to be living a normal life as a single father, Sherlock helping out as much as he knew how. By eyesight you wouldn't realize his wife had just attempted to kill them all in a car crash. 

But it was a week into living with Sherlock back at 221b when Mrs Hudson was taking care of Rosie that John broke down, the realization that Mary was dead. 

John had got angry in his misery, had shouted at Sherlock, and for once, Sherlock had reacted in an uncontrollable way,, he had no control over his actions and had began pacing, rocking back and forth when he was sat down, his knee bouncing when he attempted to sit straight and by the end of it the build up was inevitable. 

Sherlock had begun crying uncontrollably, the crying turned to shouting at John when ever he tried to approach him, the noises of cars going by was too much, the lighting was too bright, he could feel the flicker of the bulb prickling his skin.

"Sherlock?" John asked carefully, he felt guilty now. He should have realized. He was a doctor. Maybe he wasn't specialized in this area but he should have seen the signs. He remembered his joke to Greg, outside the pub when they'd found Greg undercover checking up on them, he had made a joke about Sherlock with Aspergers. 

He never knew it was true. 

How did he not realize? 

Carefully however he approached Sherlock, talking to him in a soothing voice and gently taking Sherlock by the shoulders. 

"Hey, hey it's okay" John assured him, rubbing his hands gently up and down Sherlocks shoulders in an attempt to sooth him. Mrs Hudson came by a few minutes later and she asked what was wrong in concern. 

"Don't worry Mrs Hudson, could you possibly make a cup of chamomile, not too hot, I don't want him to burn himself" John asked and she went off to the kitchen muttering to herself. 

The coat made sense too now, in some ways it was similar to the weighted blanket, a heavy weight on ones shoulders to simulate protection and being cared for and held. John carefully reached over to his chair, only a foot to so away from them. He took the plaid blanket from the back of the chair and dragged it towards them.

He gently draped the blanket over Sherlocks shaking shoulders before leaving to stand and close the windows, turn the lights off and make the place more suited but Sherlock suddenly clutched at his jumper covered sleeves. So another favor from Mrs Hudson and soon the curtains were drawn, the window clasp done up and the light switched off. She handed the tea to John before leaving. 

John held the tea to Sherlocks face, and after a while Sherlock was visible calmer, his eyes shut still but his breathing had regulated and the grip on John's arms had loosened to a weak hook of his fingers against the worn and bubbling material. 

"Sherlock can you open your eyes now, look at me" John asked quietly as Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and looked up at him, his green grey eyes meeting John's dark blue and he felt it as it grounded him a bit more, he'd most likely me acting as if nothing had ever happened within the next half hour, creating experiments and tests, back to see Rosie. 

The occasional melt down was inevitable, the lead up to each varying from subtle to obvious signs. When John thought about it, all of his characteristics lead to one of autism, the pacing, the coat, shouting, the attacks of boredom on his overactive mind, the ability to see patterns that no one else could, bad judgement of emotions. It made sense now. 

It was the same at the wedding, he didn't know why everyone was crying, he didn't know what he had done, he couldn't read people's emotions, they confused him. 

There was also when John had insulted his website and he had just walked away. Withdrawn himself from contact and socialization. 

Then there was the anxiety attack that had built up to a meltdown in the pub in Dartmoor, when he had seen the 'hound', when John didn't believe him. There is nothing wrong with me!

And it's true, because no, there was nothing 'wrong' with him, he was just different, his brain was 'wired' differently, his mind an enigma to the modern man. 

But what was wrong with that? All those criminals put behind bars because of that mind that was high above the average IQ, competing against the intellect of your average computer, but he wasn't a 'machine' because no, he was better than that, he saw emotions but he didn't understand them but he'd been training himself. 

He was learning but sometimes it was bound to happen, for it all to become too much, it was to be expected. To be shouted at and shoved about until his mind snapped. Until his tongue would curve around the cruelest deductions, spit out ones darkest secrets or maybe just to confine himself into a room with no stimulants. Turn off his mind for a few minutes. 

Like an elastic band or a spring, he would eventually snap or disfigure, would uncoil and wouldn't retract back to shape, he had reached full elastic potential, and then he was unable to go back by himself. Like an enzyme with too much heat he would denatured and not fit into his surroundings, he wouldn't react properly, he would have less successful collisions and he wouldn't function. 

John cared for him that night, even after Sherlock somehow managed to brush it off like a meager event. He kept a careful eye on him, even whilst tending to Rosie's bottle, and watched him carefully as he went about the flat, checking dust and fibers.


	7. What dreams are made of

Sherlock woke groggily from his sleep, looked around, lying on the staircase, this was new. 

He groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, this brought back memories, his spine was most definitely not made for the stairs. 

What had happened the night before?

He's halfway between Mrs Hudsons flat and their own, so he must have got through the door and then on his way up the stairs he had collapsed and fell asleep.

Interesting. 

Where's John? Sherlock decided to call for him as there is no sound upstairs. 

"John?" He calls and is surprised how weak his voice sounds. "John!" He calls again and his voice cracks at the end. 

He drags himself to his feet, noticing the vomit around his hands on the staircase. Where is Mrs Hudson? Ah yes, visiting family. 

No Mrs Hudson, no John, what about-- "Rosie!" Sherlock gasped as he pulled his body from the stairs and vomit that clung to his clothes. He ran despite his weakened limbs. He raced for his life. 

He got to the flat, the stench of his own clothing making him want to retch in a way beknown to himself, along with the panic that was settling in his chest, constricting his threat, making it impossible to swallow. 

"Rosie!" Sherlock called, no answer, he wasn't entirely sure if he'd even been expecting one, to have received one would have been a reaction of relief but also awe at having learnt to reply at such a young age. He pushed the thought aside. 

First he checked the living room, no Rosie and no John, then he checked the kitchen, then John's bedroom, then the bathroom and finally his own. 

His pacing across the floorboards must have disturbed something or someone for there was a cry of fear and he began to hunt, to detect what he had missed. Out of his bedroom, back in again, the noise was strongest here, walk more, one particular creaky floorboard, he inspected the floor where he saw a minute scratch, further examination along the floor and under his bed lay a screwdriver (phillips head). He picked it up before going to the mark in the floorboard and levering it between the two planks of old wood and pulling with all his adrenaline induced strength. 

The cry cane again, much louder this time and there lay a bundle of blankets along with what appeared to be John's coat. 

"Rosie?" He asked, and his voice cracked in fear. 

"Er'ock?" The tiniest voice questioned back and Sherlock didn't feel the tears that streaked down his face. 

"Rosie!" He whispered, and he began to cry properly, as he pressed her against his chest in a defensive manor willing to give his life, sacrifice himself so long as the child in his arms stay protected.

He managed to get Rosie into the living room and gently placed her in her crib, he pulled off his soiled suit jacket and noticed the puncture hole to his shirt leave to his arm beneath. Syringe of some sort. Drugged. 

He began to scavenge clues for John, tried to hint him out in all the mess that he had found since he woke up. 

He scavenged the kitchen again, checked the cupboards, under the sink, the whole bathroom even in the bath and behind he curtains. John was nowhere. 

Back to John's room, move the discarded dressing gown and slippers off the floor and out of the way. More scratch marks. A hammer laying near by. Pick up hammer, no fingerprints, no clues or evidence. 

Get the pointed end of the hammer into the cracks between the floorboards, use his own weight as leverage. He's feeling sick now. Please god let John be okay. 

His name had become a mantra, johnjohnjohnjohnjohn cmon John!

The floorboard loosened, a hollow bang throughout the flat as it was dislodged. Move it aside. 

He felt sick but his body had froze. He couldn't breathe. "Jesus no! God no!" His voice broke, he didn't care, no no no no no no!! "JOHN!!" 

He lay there crippled, the floorboards had covered him in dust and wood sharpening. He'd been crushed between the floorboards. Bled out between them. John was--dead! 

"John no no no no no, John wake up please, please" he began screaming frantically, he was shaking. 

"How sweet, turns out the sociopath can live after all" a voice sang, an Irish drawl, he turned around, there stood Moriarty, west wood suit immaculate but a bloodied hole around his head. He blinked. 

The hound. "No get away from him! Get away!" The hound came closer, snapped back to Moriarty, back to hound, a schizophrenic werewolf. The wild snapped at John's broken body. He continued screaming as the werewolf began to feast off John's body, then he saw a bloodied baby grow, his eyes snapped shut and he was screaming, he could feel the windows rattling. The walls closing in, when the wolf was done it approached him and he accepted death, didn't want to live anymore. 

"JOHN! No no no no no no!!" He screamed, begging it to be a lie! "Rosie no!" His voice broke, a shattered whisper. 

His eyes opened, he felt something firmly shaking him. 

"Wake up Sherlock! Please! For the love of god wake up!" And the dreaming continued and so did his own, his own gut wrenching sobs. Open his eyes again, the wolf will be there, no keep them shut. "Sherlock open your eyes look at me!" 

He knew that voice. John! 

He opened his eyes, the light blinding him, and he sobbed in relief. He sat there, slightly tan skin, blonde grey hair, blue eyes filled with concern, tears tracking down his own cheeks. 

"John?" Sherlock asked in fear, please be real.

John nodded. Barely time to adjust before the wind was knocked out of him, off the bed and onto the floor. Sherlock hugged him as tightly as his body was able. John felt like something might break. John hugged back, stroked his hair, John lay on his back on the cold wooden floor, Sherlock leached on top of him, his face into the crook of John's neck. 

Unknowing of his actions, he kissed Sherlocks temple gently, an attempt at reassurance. He didn't notice Sherlock pressing his face into John's direct line of view until his eyes met John's with timidness but desperation. He looked so sad, whatever he wanted John would give. 

The eye contact was short because before John knew what was happening, he had Sherlocks hands carved around his face like he was made of glass and the gentle press of plush soft lips against his own, mingling with the salty tang of tears. Just a press of lips against lips. 

Sherlock didn't know what he was doing, he was out of control of his actions but it felt so right. John wasn't pushing him away. John was kissing back.


	8. “Are you-“ “no!”

When Sherlock woke, he was lying in bed, not on a staircase or on the floor. 

That had been a peculiar dream, it was a dream though wasn't it, must have been. John wasn't gay. And even if he was wired that way, he wouldn't be interested in Sherlock. 

Sherlock was enough of a handful as a friend alone, boyfriend/partner/lover would just be hard work, and even if they managed around all of Sherlocks flaws would it be worth it. 

In his dream, they had eventually had to stop clinging to each other when they heard Rosie's cries over the monitor. He'd brought Rosie into Sherlocks room for a bit and eventually had to take her back. Sherlock remembered falling asleep in the dream and it felt like no time passed when his eyes opened in the real world.

He slowly pulled himself out of bed, steadying his sleep heavy legs against the solid wood floor before heading to his dressing gown and slipping it over his shoulders, he pulled the gown closed and tightened it around his waist.

He went out to the living room and then towards the kitchen where John was setting up Rosie's bottle. She was fussing and not at all happy so when John saw Sherlock he took Rosie out of her high chair and handed her over where she began to muffle her crying. 

"Morning Sherlock" John said cheerily as he turned to the fridge to pull out some ingredients.

"Morning John" Sherlock said gently as he bounced Rosie in his arms.

John then prepared their breakfast as well after handing the bottle to Sherlock to feed Rosie. Sherlock sat down in the kitchen chair opposite John's seat and let John serve out the toast and scrambled eggs. 

John put away the pan before turning to Rosie and Sherlock, first he bent down to kiss Rosie and then pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Sherlocks mouth. Sherlock gasped and then it all came galloping back, last night most definitely was not a dream. 

Sherlock couldn't help but smile, his grin was wide as John ruffled his hair and then sat opposite him. They ate their breakfast in a comfortable silence, John's bare foot occasionally grazing Sherlocks. It was only when John very lightly stroked the instep of Sherlocks foot that he met out a small giggle to which Rosie began laughing too. 

"Ticklish Sherlock?" John chuckled and ran his bare foot up Sherlocks calf before going back down again, feeling the goosebumps and hair prickle under his foot. 

"I'm not" Sherlock said in a note drone but John read something in the mans eyes that said otherwise. 

"I'll be testing that out later" John said casually as he stood up to wash the dishes and then put them away.

"Yes but there's no point if I've already given you the answer" Sherlock pointed out. 

"Yes, but then every true scientist will perform their own experiments so they have first hand date not from a second person p.o.v" John insisted. 

"I hate you sometimes" Sherlock grumbled.

"And I love you too" John laughed as he bent down to press a kiss to Sherlocks curls before heading into the living room and then up the stairs to his bedroom so he could change into suitable clothes.

Sherlock stewed over the conversation, even as he was taking Rosie back into the living room and sitting down on the carpet with her on the playmate in the corner near their chairs, he continued to think about John's final words. I love you too. Love. Did John love him, really?

John came downstairs to see Rosie laughing as Sherlock lay on his back being prodded at and used as a hill for a her toy animals, apparently being the perfect surface in her eyes. John couldn't help but smile as Sherlock attempted to lift his head making him look somewhat like a meerkat looking out for predators that was, in this case, John. 

Sherlock was still in an old grey granite color tshirt with his blue silk nightgown lying fluidly around him, possibly in Rosie's eyes it looked like rocks and a river, perhaps his hair was just a big black rain cloud or a black sheep. 

John was pushed out of his thoughts by a full blown giggle and it took him a while to realize that it hadn't come from Rosie. Indeed it had erupted from Sherlock. As it turned out Rosie had caught a very sensitive spot on Sherlocks stomach, and Sherlock had been trying to hold back the reaction. 

Rosie had been staring in shock and awe for a few seconds before she too began to giggle hysterically with Sherlock letting out a small chuckle as he recovered. 

"Bumble your going to be the death of me!" Sherlock gasped. 

"Definitely ticklish" John said with a smile and Sherlock caught his eye, something mixed with humor and fear. Sherlock smiled crookedly and John smiled widely back.


	9. What do you think Ro-Ro?

"Honestly John, I'm not!" Sherlock insisted, attempting to sit up despite Rosie's protest.

"Oh really?" John asked sarcastically, as he snuck closer up to Sherlock who was still pinned to the floor by Rosie's will alone. 

"John--" Sherlock began before John had straddled his waist down and was slowly creeping his fingers towards Sherlock mid section, not quite touching but still enough to make Sherlocks skin prickle. 

"What do you think Ro-Ro?" John asked as Rosie watched intently from the side. Rosie seemed to have a glint in her eye that when Sherlock saw it nothing but complete disbelief and what appeared to be betrayal. Rosie began poking mercilessly as Sherlocks ribs setting him squirming and yelping as John slithered his hands around Sherlocks hips and did featherlight scratches through the material of Sherlocks t-shirt. Sherlock was soon screaming and laughing, John reached down to the back of Sherlocks thighs and scratched just above the knee until Sherlock was pleading for mercy.

"No John please--no!" Sherlock gasped as John and Rosie teamed up against him leaving him a crying mess on the floor, his face pink and lips tight in a line, Cupid bow hidden, as he tried to contain his laughter. "JOHNNNNN!" 

John relented slightly, leaving his touched featherlight against Sherlocks silk and cotton covered over-sensitized skin. Sherlock tried to buck John off but John remained steady, having moved down slightly so he could easily reach at Sherlocks knees and the slightly plush belly beneath the granite t-shirt. 

Sherlock was gasping, tear tracks down his face as he smiled unconsciously, the occasional breathless giggle escaping his pinkened lips. 

Rosie sat right near his head, hitting him methodically with a plush bumblebee teddy with fuzzy wings. John reached up to under Sherlocks arms to his teres major and then began his ministrations yet again setting Sherlock off screaming and yelling again and trying to twist away. 

This continued until John decided to test what he figured was Sherlocks worst spot especially considering that when John lay his hands upon Sherlocks granite covered belly Sherlock froze entirely, looking at John with pleading eyes. 

"John?--" Sherlock questioned, the sound of fear in his voice, his lip pouting just slightly. 

Rosie continued to prod at Sherlocks face with various toys as well as bashing them against his head and chest. John slowly trailed his fingertips down and curled around the hem of the t-shirt lifting it so his fingers could slide underneath. 

He felt the warmth of Sherlocks smooth skin against his palms and Sherlock arched up in another pitiful attempt at escape. 

"Please John--" Sherlock pleaded, but John just smiled wickedly before sliding his hands more outward, fingers splayed and then began tickling at Sherlocks soft belly, he didn't laugh at first and then he did and he could barely breathe, close to hyperventilating, his laughs were silent and his shrieks not heard. 

"JO-O-OHN ST-OHOHOHOH-OHP! Sherlock begged. 

John continued for approximately another two minutes before he had Sherlock lifeless and dead beneath his hands, gasping for breath like he'd run a marathon. 

John lifted his tshirt slightly revealing soft alabaster skin, littered with little brown freckles just above his hips, John leaned down and pressed a loving kiss to Sherlocks hip bone before trailing his lips up to his belly button and blowing a muffled raspberry to which Sherlock attempted to swat his head away. 

John laughed and pulled the hem back down covering the skin, before meeting Sherlocks eyes, alight with mirth and swing the high blush that spread all over Sherlocks face even across the tips of his ears. 

John leaned closer up to Sherlocks face before kissing him on the nose and then the mouth.   

"Cmon love, I think it's a good day for a family day out, what do you say?" John asked joyfully as he climbed off Sherlock and got to his feet before offering his hands to Sherlock and pulling him up swiftly to which Rosie giggled. "Off you go, get changed!" John said with a pat to Sherlocks upper thigh as he began to walk away causing a yelp out of the detective before he scurried to his bedroom. "Summer clothes!" John called out. 

John then set about collecting Rosie off the floor to change her into something more suitable for outside that wasn't her sleep suit.  

He put her into a black and yellow striped dress, a gift from Sherlock after the affectionate nickname bumble had come into place.


	10. Parks and recreational behaviour

Sherlock came out a few minutes later in a pair of blue skinny jeans and a white tshirt, and he was wearing a pair of red converse. 

John couldn't help but smile softly at his slightly self conscious appearance so he handed Rosie to him before leaning up and pressing a kiss to sherlocks nose. 

"Come on then, love" John said softly leading them to the pram at the bottom of the stairs and securing Rosie carefully before pushing the prank out the door, Sherlock carrying the front so it didn't bump on the steps. 

"I think we go to the park, get ice cream if your good" John said thoughtfully sending a knowing glance at Sherlock who looked mock affronted before smiling. 

"Hey, I don't follow trouble, trouble always finds me" Sherlock defended.

"I know love, I know" John said softly, silently delighted at the blush that crept across the detectives pale cheeks. 

They continued their walk, Sherlock occasionally walking ahead, turning around and in a crouch as he walked so he could have a deep in depth conversation with Rosie, John wasn't entirely sure if Rosie understood but her excited babbling was almost equivalent to sherlocks wolf hand gestures. 

It was only when Sherlock nearly knocked an old last over with his backwards walking that John made him turn back around and walk alongside him. 

They eventually got to the park, there were a few lone swings in the corner with a slide and climbing frame at the corner near the marigolds and pretty hedges, naturally Sherlock was more interested than Rosie and began slithering up the climbing frame with the agility of one of the big cats. 

Sherlock was inspecting the sand scratched against the paintwork when he misplaced his footing slightly and fell on his backside with a mumbled curse and followed by a chuckling John and a giggling Rosie. 

John lifted Rosie carefully out of the pram and walked her over to the swings, her legs kicking wildly as he tried to sit her into the baby swing and then successfully buckling her in. 

He gently pushed Rosie on the swing and listened to her cries of glee. Sherlock soon approached, subtly rubbing at the top of the back of his thigh before he then sat on the swing next to Rosie's, wincing slightly as he did so. 

"Want me to check that when we get home?" John sniggered as Sherlock turned a deep crimson. 

"N-no I'm f-fine" Sherlock stuttered as he somehow became an even darker shade of red. 

"I'm only joking sweetheart" John replied with a laugh as he ruffled sherlocks hair from behind and gave him a gentle push on the swing. 

Sherlock giggled quietly and nodded as John pushed Rosie's swing once and then his own just a little bit higher, being careful not to kick his heels on the floor. 

"You act like you've never been to a park before" John chuckled as Sherlock swung his torso back and forth in time with the swing, leaning his head back and pulling faces at Rosie from his upside down view. 

Rosie laughed and pointed with chubby fingers as Sherlock rolled his eyes back and stuck his tongue out, all while leaning even further back on the swing. 

"Sherlock careful, your going to--" the word 'fall' was left unsaid as a yelp came from Sherlock's direction and then fell and rolled backwards onto the soft cushioned grass, John rushed forward and lifted him to his feet before giving him a once over for any injuries. "You donut" John murmured affectionately as he turned back to Rosie still giggling merrily in her swing. 

"I'm fine John" Sherlock said in mock exasperation as he walked up to Rosie and lifted her out of the swing and spun her around. 

"Course you are" John said softly, wrapping his arm around sherlocks waist and guiding him back over to the pram so they could continue walking. "Ice cream then?" 

Sherlock nodded and smiled down at John who smiled back up, squeezing lightly at the more fleshy part of sherlocks waist which revived a small giggle in return. 

They walked the pram down to the ice cream stall, Sherlock continuing to carry Rosie. They bought some ice cream and sat down at a bench, Sherlock carefully probing at Rosie's closed lips with a spoon full of vanilla and chocolate whilst he ate his own mint cone and in the process of Rosie's bashing arms managed to get it all over sherlocks nose but with no hands to wipe it off with. 

John leaned across and pecked him on the nose, effectively removing the ice cream and leaving him with a rosy tinge to his cheekbones.

"Had a nice day then?" John asked him, raising his hand to stroke the hair back on Rosie's forehead. 

"Delightful John" Sherlock replied in a brilliant impersonation of his elder sibling with a mock sarcastic lilt. 

"Yeah alright Spock, I know you liked it really" John pointed out as he leaned and kissed Rosie on one of her chubby cheeks. 

"I did" Sherlock agreed. 

They eventually began to head back to the flat, Rosie tucked back into her pram looking up at them in silent awe as Sherlock named all the varying breeds of pigeon and then as they passed some bumblebees began to do a full monologue on all things to do with apiculture. 

They were soon outside the flat and Sherlock helped carry the pram up into the hallway before John took Rosie up the stairs, already beginning to doze and took her to her cot. She was asleep as soon as John had laid her down, her hand curling into the fabric of the wool comforter. 

"Go sleep love" John whispered as he stroked his knuckle over her wind-reddened cheek. He carefully backed out the room then, knocking into a lanky detective with a gasp who had clearly been watching the scene from the doorway. 

"Sorry, sorry,so-nghh" Sherlock's apologies were cut off by John pressing his lips to his own and closing the door silently behind them as they passed through, lips still attached. 

"Shh" John whispered against the detectives slightly parted lips, "don't wake Rosie" he breathed, nipping at sherlocks plump lower lip to prove his point and making Sherlock whimper against the wall he was now plastered against. 

"John" Sherlock whimpered again as John sucked at his bottom lip leaving him breathless. 

"Shh" John told him, lifting his hand to Sherlock's cheek and brushing his thumb across the curve of his ear and back again in a soothing motion. 

John pulled away and pressed his hand to the small of the taller mans back, guiding him to the living room. John sat down in his chair before encouraging Sherlock to come over and Sherlock shyly stepped forward before John grabbed his wrist and pulled him forwards making him stumble into John with a muffled "oof". 

Sherlock sighed and fell asleep shortly after, his face pressed to the exposed skin of Johns neck and breathing him in. John had his arms around him, one stroking over each vertebrae of his spine and the other carding through the soft chocolate brown curls of the 35 year old in his arms.


	11. That alright sweetheart?

When John woke, Sherlock was still pressed up against him but his body had been slipping slightly off John and onto the floor, his feet at odd angles and his lanky arms fallen over the arms of the chair so he resembled more starfish than man. 

John chuckled and with a muffled groan pulled Sherlock into his lap properly, still sleeping soundly. John hooked his arm underneath the detectives knees and pulled himself to his feet all while supporting his back as well. 

He chuckled quietly to himself, it was like a long stretched version of Rosie. He heaved Sherlock up the hallway to his room and then laid him carefully on the bed, removing his shoes and socks, so that he lay in his trousers and tshirt. 

John contemplated removing his jeans so the detective would be comfier but didn't want to cross that line. Not yet. He didn't want to startle Sherlock. It was nice to see the man so happy though.

John went off to make tea after that. Another smile creeping up his lips at how stereotypically British this was. Because "no matter the situation, tea was always necessary" and there was "never an event that could be better without tea."

It was an hour or so later he heard Sherlock stumbling around his room like a drunk man and the easily identifiable sound of hoping on one leg as they tried to get jeans off before the expected thump of their attempt sending them crashing to the floor. 

John went up to the consultants door,knocking quietly. "You alright Sherlock?" He called through the wood.

A groan of discomfort and then followed by " yeah, fine" slightly clouded by sleep. John smiled to himself and headed back to the kitchen to make a cup for Sherlock. 

He was distracted slightly by Sherlock's door opening and then the gentle pad of bare feet against the carpet of 221b. He then heard a creak and Sherlock was soon sat in the chair at the kitchen table pulling his microscope towards him and sliding a slide underneath that he seemed to procure from out of nowhere. 

He adjusted his jacket sleeves before slipping a pipet from one of his pockets. What on earth was that doing in there? John thought.

Reaching over again he picked up some indicator which he then dropped onto a very small droplet of liquid. The colour soon changed from green to a deep purple. Alkaline. 

So that means whatever was given to those victims dropped their PH from 7.4 (healthy) to around 3 or 4. Heart failure. Stomach cramps. Etcetera. 

"John, the erm, the cold case Greg gave us, the three dead women, we didn't know what had killed them, something causing heart failure and complaints of stomach cramps hours before. They were given an alkaline of PH 0 maybe PH 1 and the affect of this killed them. It's so obviously simple, why didn't they see it?" Sherlock exclaimed banging his palms to the table in exasperation, he'd only received this case yesterday. 

"Remarkable" John chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of Sherlock's temple. 

"Meretricious, I always solve the case" Sherlock sighed. 

"Not that you great klutz, you got it right, you got Lestrades name right, for the first time ever" John chuckled running a hand through Sherlock's curls and receiving a quiet sigh as he decidedly continued his ministrations. 

"John, pass me my phone?" Sherlock requested, his head laying back, eyes closed.

John chuckled, "where?"

"Jacket pocket" Sherlock whispered. 

Smoother than every other exasperated time, John pressed his front to Sherlock's back, hands meeting at his shoulders before sliding gently down in a smooth caress until they reached Sherlock's chest, causing a hitch to the detectives breath. 

He slid his left hand lower to Sherlock's waist, enough pressure not to cause tickling and his right hand under the first layer of clothing, slipping into the jacket pocket and procuring the phone with a grin as he pressed a kiss to the crown of Sherlock's messy chocolate curls. He slipped the phone into Sherlock's slightly trembling hand savouring every touch of fingertips before stepping away, his left hand exploring every figment of the man through fabric. 

He could hear Sherlock's breathing more rapid than usual and when he traced the detectives neck with his fingertips he felt the detectives carotid, the pulse beneath begging for attention.

He then went on to make toast with butter and honey which was Sherlock's favourite. During making the toast he leaned against the counter to see Sherlock had only just started to move again. Maybe there was an off switch after all, John smirked. 

"John I can see you smiling, why?" Sherlock asked seriously. John didn't realise Sherlock had just seen his smirk through the reflection of a spoon on the counter and had been watching since he'd sat down. 

"I'll let you work it out" John said with a wink and after a few seconds he caught sight of the detectives now reddening face as he placed the toast next to his microscope, careful not to disturb anything. 

"Not yet love" John whispered into his ear, brushing curls with his lips when he spoke, his breath making Sherlock's skin prickle in goosebumps. "I'm not wasting you, no, I'm gonna take care of you and savour every moment of it"

"John!" Sherlock whined as John swept away again to clean up any mess that had been made. He then went to check on Rosie considering she usually woke up around this time. 

"Anyway, cmon, we need to get Rosie up, coming?" John asked softly and offered his hand which after a few seconds of hesitation Sherlock took gently in his own and allowed himself to be pulled up. They walked to the next room and then to Rosie's crib where she was beginning to rouse. 

When she finally woke, able to gargle a few words, John and Sherlock both caught onto the three word sentence: "daddy, papa 'lo" she squealed reaching up clammy hands to grab at them. 

John lifted her out and handed her to the detective "here Sher, you dress her and change her, I'll prepare her breakfast. Is that alright sweetheart?" John asked as he went to leave the room, watching around the doorframe. 

Sherlock blushed pink at the pet name. Sweetheart really? But in all honesty he loved it but he wouldn't be admitting that anytime soon.

"Sherlock, that alright?" John asked again. 

"Yes--sorry yeah I'll do that" Sherlock stuttered, turning his back to john after giving him a final warm smile. Face blushed a light pink and a buzzing energy in his stomach. He smiled again to himself. He was happy.


	12. What is it with you and talk buildings?

A/N: something I include is something I know because of too many fanfictions and late night television adds, just to let you know. Apparently you can't avoid unwanted knowledge as Sherlock finds out. 

Sherlock took her off to Johns room and then dressed Rosie in dungarees and a flowery t-shirt after changing her nappie, a smell so strong he was glad he spent enough time inspecting dead bodies to not be put off by it.  

Sherlock lifted her into the air with a pirouette as he then went back down the stairs and into the kitchen to meet John who was busy warming up that mush they feed to babies that they call food.

Sherlock couldn't complain too much though, Rosie seemed to like it. 

It was at that moment Sherlock's phone pinged and then Johns shortly after. 

"Lestrade" they chimed together with a nod as John slipped out his phone and read the text. 

Two men dead, no weapon, no injuries as of yet, note left but typed and no fingerprints found.   
182 Gower street.  
-lestrade 

Sherlock made a gentle hum of interest and handed Rosie over to john before slipping his own phone out. 

We'll be there shortly, just taking care of Rosamund first, 30 minutes? -SH

John eventually managed to feed the whole meal to Rosie and she was being patted to get any air out of her before they grabbed the changing bag and headed down the stairs, locking the door in the process. 

Sherlock knocked raptly onto mrs Hudsons door before she opened it, her apron on over her dress.

"Ah Hudders" Sherlock began with a warm smile, "is it possible you could take care of little Rosamund here, we've got a new case" 

"Yes, off out" John said happily as mrs Hudson carefully took Rosie and the bag. 

"What, both of you?" She smiled, remembering the early days. 

"Yes, think we'll skip the tea" John chuckled as he wrapped his arm fondly around Sherlock's mid section. Mrs Hudson caught the action, her eyes lighting up and practically glowing with happiness as her mouth made an 'o' of realisation. 

"Oh boys, in so happy!" She squealed,  going up to them both and pulling them tightly into a hug, Rosie included who grumbled unhappily. 

"Yeah, it took long enough" John agreed, pulling Sherlock closer against him who stumbled slightly as the sudden action. A slight pink tinge to his pale cheeks. 

"Anywho, you two better get off, London needs you, but you best come over for tea later and tell me all about it" she decided as she turned them both around with a pat to Johns shoulder and a ruffle to Sherlock's hair and an invisible speck picked off his shoulder blade. "You take care of him John, don't let him go getting himself hurt" 

"Of course mrs Hudson" John called back with a fond smile as they got out into the front street and Sherlock -yet again- hailed a cab with surprising ease. 

John ushered Sherlock to climb in first, pinching him subtly through his coat, earning a yelp and watching the detective stumble into the cab in his seat before John climbed in behind, sitting in his usual seat.

"John, quit it, I'm working!" Sherlock pleaded, he couldn't afford to be blushing and squeaking in front of the yarders. 

"Right yeah I know" John chuckled, stroking an errant curl from Sherlock's forehead so the man just melted more into the chair but somehow still buzzing with energy. 

They got to Gower street which was only a few miles from Baker Street, hours very similar and Victorian.

It was identical to Baker Street.

182 Gower street was inaccessible because of the long rolls of police tape and police cars blocking the entrance as a policeman stood on guard outside. Blue lights flashing Sherlock stepped slightly ahead and lifted the tape for John as they went under together and then met Greg halfway towards the door. 

"Sherlock! John! Yeah it's a but if a mess but we've kept it untouched, besides the medics checking the bodies but besides that it's as we found it" the detective inspector explained.

"Good" Sherlock decided before racing ahead to the door in long strides and stepping inside and up the steps to 182.

There inside on the floor between two chairs, lay the bodies of two men, dead. 

The note between read:  
Here lie the bodies of Ian McGregor, the lying scum of the earth, and the red head that took him from me.

Clearly Ian was the man on the left, shorter of the two and more broadly built, laying next to the unnamed body with the red hair, a few inches taller than Ian. 

"Find Mrs McGregor, we need her alibi of where she was when Ian and-" Sherlock cut off temporarily to pat down the red head, finding a screwed up receipt, eaten up by a washing machine and forgotten. "Card details" in blurred print "after purchasing--" Sherlock paused again in confusion.  
"What the hell?" Sherlock muttered, before moving on and reading the card details to Lestrade so he could trace a name to the card.

Sherlock handed the receipt over to John to keep hold of whilst he began deducing what he could. John unfurled the corners and attempted to read what had stumped Sherlock so much and there it was. Chocolate flavoured lubricant. Yeah right mr sex-design-alarm-me. John chuckled.

"What?" Sherlock questioned John.

"Nothing" John said with a smile as he turned to hand the receipt to someone waiting with a evidence bag. He crouched back down next to Sherlock and began investigating the dead men.

Poisoned seemed to be the only possibility, something apparently untraceable. 

As it turned out Mrs.McGregor worked as a plastic surgery nurse and had managed to get hold of Botox, also known as bacillium bochilinum that she had injected into the blood stream in a form of revenge for her husband cheating on her with who was now confirmed to be Logan Castle. 

She was taken by the police, kicking and screaming after a chase that had ended with Sherlock being shoved backwards out of a two story building having been lucky enough to land on a skip with a mattress in it. 

John would naturally deny afterwards that he had most certainly not pushed her down straight after, once he had seen Sherlock stumble out of the skip. Her cry of fear had been worth it. 

John had run down straight after and rushed to Sherlock and grabbed him harshly by the lapels of his coat before kissing him senseless. He felt Sherlock collapse against him as his knees buckled and John wrapped a hand around his waist to hold him up as he continued to kiss him and suck on his bottom lip, a hand scrunching in his hair as the other held him upright. 

Finally John pulled away, Sherlock heaving against him. 

"What have you got with tall buildings, never again" John whispered unknowing of Sally Donovan and inspector Lestrade who watched the whole scene in shock. "I love you" John whispered against his lovers forehead. 

"I love you too John"


	13. I’ll swap the tea for something less soothing

John pulled back just enough from Sherlock to study his face, Sherlock still had his eyes softly closed, his lips slightly parted and reddened from kissing, a rosy blush rising under the neck of his shirt up to his ears, fist clinging to John like it was the only thing stopping him from drowning. His hair was in a disarray of curls that had all been misplaced and were glittering in the afternoon light. 

"Home?" John asked quietly, stroking his thumb across Sherlock's cheek, surprisingly soft from all the domestic chores he did back home. Sherlock's eyes blinked open several times before eventually looking at John, dazed and dare John say it-cute. 

Sherlock eventually seemed to catch up with what John had asked and nodded his head delicately. John smiled warmly and linked hands with the detective, walking back home with him in the cooling breeze.

When they eventually got to Baker Street, John pulled Sherlock towards the door and they opened it, going in to see Mrs Hudson as promised. 

They knocked on her door and she soon came bustling out and pulling them inside, making them sit down. There was however the small matter of only two armchairs in the living room. Mrs Hudson set out the tea and took her seat, more worn than the other two and told them to sit. 

Sherlock insisted on John having the seat to which mrs Hudson called him a true gentleman before John leaned forward, up out of his seat towards Sherlock who's back was towards him, grabbing his waist firmly and pulling him backwards onto himself.

Sherlock screamed and then landed with a muffled "oof" onto John who was chuckling quietly, John pressed a kiss to the side of Sherlock's head and Sherlock blushed even deeper, his face burning crimson under mrs Hudsons knowing look and smile. 

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed when he finally had enough composure and tried to escape Johns lap. 

"Nope" John replied, tightening his arms round Sherlock's waist and pulling him snug against himself. Sherlock's long gangly legs hanging over Johns but not touching the floor. 

"I always knew it, I always knew" mrs Hudson smiled with a sigh, "I was afraid that maybe you'd never find each other" she said sadly.

"He was the stubborn git, mr-I'm-married-to-my-work, he turned me down on the first day I met him" John chuckled. 

Mrs Hudson laughed a little then, her smile growing fond. "You have him now" mrs Hudson decided.

"I have, haven't I" John agreed and bounced his knee so that Sherlock went up and down like a toddler meeting Father Christmas and saying what they wanted. Sherlock somehow seemed to go even darker by that point, the tips of his ears burning like he'd been scalded. 

John somehow drank his tea with no issues but Sherlock managed to spill his when John jigged him again. Like he did with Rosie. 

"John I'm not a child" Sherlock whined, wiping the tea from his mouth.

"No, but you certainly act like one" John pointed out and even though Sherlock was scowling John could see a different softness in his eyes and how his mouth quirked up ever so slightly. 

"Anyway we better head off in a bit mrs Hudson" John decided when he put his empty teacup back onto the tray, holding Sherlock firmly around the waist so he wouldn't slip.

"I'll take care of Rosie for the night" the landlady offered, a knowing smile on her lips. "You two just go up, I'll play some music" 

Even John blushed slightly at that but his grin grew. 

"Are you sure mrs.H?" John asked as he stood up properly, letting Sherlock slide free. 

"Definitely, although if you hurt him, I will swap out your tea for something a little less soothing" Mrs Hudson warned. 

"I wouldn't dream of it" John replied smoothly, sliding his arm round Sherlock's waist from behind and dragging the taller man backwards slightly so that he stumbled with a yelp. 

John let Sherlock go at the door and waved goodbye to mrs Hudson as Sherlock squeaked out a farewell when John pinched his side. 

John stepped closer to Sherlock, a threatening smile on his face and Sherlock stepped back, this happened until Sherlock's calfs hit the stair and he stumbled back with a thump. 

"Not on my landing boys!" Mrs Hudson called out and Sherlock turned rosy cheeked. 

Sherlock scampered when John leaned over him and ran up the stairs, John close at his tail. 

When they got into the flat John grabbed Sherlock's coat but Sherlock dropped the coat in one fluid movement so that the coat pooled onto the floor. 

Sherlock decidedly began running up the stairs to Johns room in seek of refuge when John grabbed his ankle and he flailed and squeaked out, landing on the stairs on his front with a grunt. 

John leaned over, brushing a hand up Sherlock's jacket covered side.

"You donut" John said softly, fondly. 

Sherlock whimpered slightly when trying to get better comfort on the steps  and rubbed a hand over his hip. 

John offered Sherlock his hand and lifted him up back onto the normal flooring. He then picked Sherlock up bridal style and began carrying him up the stairs. Sherlock's long legs occasionally knocked the wall up the stairs and John was especially careful getting his body through the doorway before carrying him over to the bed and gently laying him down.

John crawled in the bed, toeing his shoes off and crawled over Sherlock, successfully pinning him down and straddling his hips. 

"I'm gonna take care of you" John promised, leaning down to his ear and whispering. "We'll get to keep the tea" 

Sherlock giggled quietly, his baritone echoing in the silent room. 

"I know" Sherlock whispered back.


	14. Sleep beautifully my prince

John leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's cheek before hovering his hands over the buttons on the detectives jacket before gliding the buttons out and sliding the jacket off his shoulders and discarding it somewhere in the room. 

John then moved to Sherlock's shirt. Purple shirt. Naturally the favourite of his and Sherlock was decidedly wearing that one. John couldn't help but smile.

"What?" The detective asked. 

"Nothing, everything's perfect" John replied as he undid the first few buttons and leaned down to kiss the skin revealed. The shirt was eventually undone and once the detective had slipped his arms out it, the silk material pooled around his torso, alabaster against the deep purple. 

John pressed a few kisses to Sherlock's jaw before moving down his neck, careful not to mark as he pecked at the two freckled at his jawline and neck. 

Sherlock reached up with fumbling hands to slide John out of his jumper and John lifted his arms to allow it to be pulled over his head. Sherlock then began giggling as John caught a ticklish spot on his collarbone and was unable to undo the buttons on Johns shirt so John eventually felt pity for him and undid the buttons allowing Sherlock Sherlock to slide off the material. 

Sherlock threw the shirt to the floor as his hands then glided along the muscled planes of Johns chest, feeling the strength so perfectly compacted. 

John continued to kiss along Sherlock's collarbones and then along chest, before going down to his stomach, an approving smile at the fact Sherlock wasn't as thin as he had been when John had moved in. 

John pressed kissed to his hip bones as he had done only a day or so before and lingered on the pale freckled that dotted his skin like stars on a night sky. 

"Tickles John!" Sherlock laughed as John continued. His touch featherlight. 

"Does it?" John asked teasingly before tickling very lightly at Sherlock's waist without the shirt being in the way to which Sherlock began giggling hysterically. "I never realised"

"Johnnnn" Sherlock whined but his breath caught in what sounded like a sob but of laughter not of sadness. "I thought this was a s-serious matter!" 

"Serious? When have we ever acted serious? You went to Buckingham palace in a bed sheet!" John defended and finally ceasing his attack. 

"I did" Sherlock decided. 

"Nutter" John said softly and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's belly button before moving along. Sherlock didn't remember when John had derived him of his trousers leaving him in his boxers but it hardly mattered. He was slightly self conscious if being laid bare in the way but John was fixing that. Every kiss continuing to remove the tension from his body.

John was soon kissing along Sherlock's thought and down to his knees, calfs and then his ankles. Massaging Sherlock's feet as though to pay him the upmost attention, before moving up the other leg. 

"Turn over" John whispered and slipped his palm beneath the soft part of Sherlock's side, propelling him delightful as Sherlock turned onto his front. 

John kissed the nape of Sherlock's neck and then his shoulder blades and across his shoulders before trailing down to the base of his spine and down to his iliac crest and blowing a raspberry that nose Sherlock quietly chuckle. 

He then went down the backs of Sherlock's legs, laughing when he discovered the backs of Sherlock's knees were as ticklish as the rest of him. John kissed the instep of his sole and heel and then turned Sherlock back onto his front again. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband and looking back up at Sherlock who only nodded. 

\-----

It was later that night John finally collapsed next to Sherlock who was sated out and pliant on the bed, his breathing slightly ragged and his heart rate elevated. John reached an arm out and pulled Sherlock snug against him, their burning skin still feeling too hot to touch. 

"I love you"John whispered.

"John" Sherlock replied sleepily. I love you too. 

John couldn't help but smile, he was probably the only person to understand this precious man. 

Sherlock pressed his face into Johns shoulder and wrapped his arms around Johns waist as John wrapped his arms around the detectives. 

Eventually their body heat began to cool and the draft of the flat eventually began to creep around them as Sherlock visibly shivered in Johns arms, pressing closer for warmth. John reached down and Sherlock clung tighter unwilling to let go. Clingy afterwards? John asked himself with an amused frown as he grabbed the duvet and pulled it up over them and tucked it over Sherlock's bare shoulders. 

"Goodnight sweetheart" John whispered into the slightly damp sweaty hair at his chin. 

John ran his hands up and down Sherlock's back in a comforting gesture. 

"Sleep beautifully my prince" he added as he too closed his own eyes against the onslaught of emotions and the man in his arms, curled in a ball and letting John see his most vulnerable side. 

"Love you j'hn" Sherlock slurred sleepily, pressing even tighter. 

John ran a hand through the curls and soon they were both sleeping peacefully.


	15. My dear bumble and precious bee

John woke in the morning to Sherlock shuffling about a bit, clearly just waking up himself but still partially asleep. John smiled when Sherlock lazily opened his eyes to blink at john and blink again trying to break the cloud of sleep. 

He had slight pink lines on his cheek from the pillow when he removed his head from the pillow to look more certainly at John. Jon couldn't help it really. That he leaned over and ended up pressing Sherlock into the pillows and peppering his face with kisses a Sherlock woke up a giggling blushing mess. 

"Morning beautiful" John whispered before pecking a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips and sliding out of bed and lifting Sherlock up onto his feet. 

"Shower?" John asked.

"Shower" Sherlock agreed brushing a hand through his hair. 

John wrapped Sherlock on his spare nightgown before putting on the other. Sherlock's was short and just reached his knees with the sleeves only reaching halfway down his forearms. 

They headed down to the shower and carefully washed each other before heading to get changed. It was full early morning so Sherlock went down to collect Rosie from Mrs Hudson and John made tea and breakfast whilst Rosie babbled happily. 

"Dada! Papa!" She squealed excitedly clapping her hands and pulling happily at Sherlock's fringe before reaching for John. 

"How's my little princess?" John asked softly pressing a kiss to her golden curls. 

"No! Bumble dada!" Rosie exclaimed with a sherlockian expression of pride and glowing. 

"Ah yes, I forgot my dear bumble" John chuckled and pulled an arm free to grab Sherlock who had been watching with a smile on his face "And my precious bee" he declared as he pulled Sherlock into the hug, his arm wrapped around the detectives waist. 

Sherlock leaned into the hug and wrapped both arms around Rosie and John. "My dear Watson's" he sighed happily, pressing a silent kiss to Rosie's brow then Johns. 

It was at that moment, as they hugged tightly in the middle of the kitchen in this scene of domestic bliss that Mrs Hudson had entered and caught the whole scene. She couldn't truly help herself when it came to reaching to the abandoned phone on the table near the kitchen doorway and managing to get to the camera took several pictures before she was spotted by John who looked at her expectantly but didn't let go. 

"Morning mrs Hudson!" John cheerily said as she remembered what she had actually come up for and placed the freshly washed clothes on the table. 

"Not you're housekeeper mind" she chuckled as she left the room. The photos taken remained unknown of their existence on Sherlock's phone on the side table. 

"Thankyou!" John and Sherlock called in unison. 

"No problem dearies" she tutted fondly as she trotted down the stairs. 

It wasn't until hours later did Sherlock require his phone for a cold case that he noticed it was still on the camera setting that he went into the photo library and what he saw made his breath catch. 

John. Rosie. And himself. Hugging in the kitchen. Johns face showing the most affection he'd ever seen on a persons features and Rosie looking at them both in awe, a wide smile on her face, her crystalline eyes bright and happy as Sherlock hugged them both like he could never let go. Uncaring of his newly ironed suit as he held them tight against him. Love and trust written across his features. His--family. 

No. They're family. The Watson Holmes family. Dada John and papa lock. He didn't notice the tears slipping down his cheeks until he felt a thumb brush them away. 

"Why are you crying love?" John asked gently, pulling him close. "Is it the case?" John asked carefully. 

Sherlock couldn't answer and so in explanations handed his phone over to John who took it gently. 

"Oh Sherlock" John said in a voice so soft Sherlock felt himself fall even more in love. "You beautiful creature" he said as he wrapped Sherlock into his arms for a second time that day and pressed a kiss to the taller mans curls. 

And it wasn't until hours after that did said picture find itself enlarged on Johns computer and then with some very slow one finger tapping and clicking did the printer in the desk groan and crack and swallowed the paper and ejected it again with new colours did that picture show up again. 

Another hour later and the same picture was in a intricately designed silver frame that had been a gift from a very grateful client and taking its place on the mantel below the mirror. 

Sherlock had seen it again and couldn't help but smile widely at the print. The delivers silver frame but in the centre of their kitchen. One of the best days of his life. Captured by his landlady. His second mother. Rosie's surrogate grandmother. 

The Watson Holmes family.


End file.
